La Claire Et Le Stégoceratops
by Lord Kristine
Summary: Il était une fois . . .
1. Chapter 1

_. . . So, are we not going to address the fact that you just put Claire and Owen's relationship in danger?_

 _What? I just SAVED it! You saw what was happening. I HAD to change her back._

 _Yeah, but you also gave her the option to be human._

 _So? She was born a human, but she's used to being a stegoceratops. I doubt she'll switch often._

 _What if this is a gateway to more time spent as a human?_

 _Then she spends time as a human. I don't see the problem._

 _The problem is that she's only with Owen because being a dinosaur gave her some much-needed humility. Without that, she'll dump him for sure._

 _How do you know?_

 _There's lots of evidence within the text. Their bond is strongest when she's a stegoceratops and he's a human._

 _Not necessarily. He was a jerboa for a while._

 _That wouldn't have lasted. If their roles were reversed, Claire would have left Owen in a heartbeat._

 _I don't think so._

 _I'll prove it. Have their essences act out a situation in which Owen is the non-human._

 _Essences?_

 _You can extract a person's "being" for various purposes. These specters will disappear, of course, so you don't have to worry about them causing trouble. It's only temporary. Best of all, Owen and Claire will never know._

 _I don't like the idea of using their likeness for nefarious reasons, but now you're making me worried about their relationship._

 _You SHOULD be. In addition to giving Claire the option to change, you granted Owen his stegoceratops form, just like that. That was impulsive._

 _And you've never been impulsive? . . ._

 _Do as I say, not as I do. So, are you ready to reverse their roles?_

 _Alright. I'll try it out, but only because I care about my friends. How do I start?_

 _Build a temporary world in which they can interact. For simplicity's sake, use an already-existing property and insert the Jurassic World characters._

 _What kind of story should I use?_

 _Ooh! Ooh! I have the PERFECT one!_

 _Tell me._

 _I'll give you a hint: it takes place in France and features an ugly man holding a pretty lady hostage . . ._

 _Beauty and the Beast. Got it._

 _What? No! That's not what I wanted!_

 _Too bad. It's done. Let's see how they do._

 _Meh. I guess we can do Phantom some other time . . ._


	2. Chapter 2

Once upon a time, a beautiful girl came across an enchanted castle in her wanderings. She had turned herself around in the forest on the way back to her village, and was in desperate need of rest. She sought sanctuary in this haven, relieved to be safe from the dangers of the forest, but also wary of her good fortune.

Although it was winter outside the castle grounds, the court was green and full of life. The woman found refuge in a lush garden that lay within the stone walls, and meandered through the colorful flowers until a particular blossom caught her eye. It was whiter than snow and softer than silk. She ran her fingers over the petals, amazed that such a beautiful flower could exist. Hoping to bring it back to her own garden, she plucked it from the ground and put it in her pocket. Suddenly, a deep voice rang out from the bushes.

"Hello."

She gasped and stumbled backwards, trampling the flowerbed by accident.

"Careful!"

"I'm sorry," she quavered, "I didn't know anyone lived here. It's so far from the village, and-"

"You're from the village?" the voice asked, "Oh, this is perfect! Tell me: what is your name?"

"Claire," she squeaked.

"Claire . . . Claire . . . That's a wonderful name! I'm Owen. I am the master of this castle."

Claire gulped.

"That's nice, but I really should be going . . ."

"No! You can't leave now! Won't you stay for supper, at least?"

Claire moved slowly towards the gate.

"I can't. I have to be home before dark."

"You can sleep over."

"I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"We're strangers."

"We don't have to be."

Claire reached into her pocket with shaking hands.

"Look, I'm sorry to have bothered you. I'll give back your flower, and-"

As soon as she revealed the blossom, there was a shocked gasp from the bushes.

"Where did you find that?!"

"In the garden."

"Liar! You stole it from my tower, you thief!"

She scoffed with offense, furrowing her brow.

"No, I didn't. I picked this here, not in some tower. Flowers can look alike, you know."

There was a stunned silence.

"You found another one? I didn't know there were two . . . Hand it over."

Claire frowned.

"Don't be rude. You ought to apologize for calling me a liar and a thief."

"Just give me the flower."

"I won't."

"I need it."

"Maybe I should tear it up . . ."

"NO!"

Suddenly, a massive figure burst out of the foliage. Claire shrieked and dropped the flower, which the red giant scooped up with worry.

"Careful, or you'll break it! Do you know how _valuable_ this is?!"

Claire fell back with shock. The horned monster blinked twice, then realized he was in full view.

"Don't run . . ."

Claire crawled backwards a little faster. The animal charged towards her and cut her off.

"Don't be afraid. I didn't mean to shout. You're still invited to supper . . ."

Claire shook her head with her eyes closed tight.

"I can't stay!"

"You have to."

He reached for her, and she gave a frightened whine.

"Don't eat me!"

He pulled his head back with surprise.

"Eat you? Oh, no, no, no, no. You're misunderstanding me. I'm a herbivore. I just thought you might be hungry, and it gets very lo-"

She made a dash for the gate. The dinosaur stomped his foot, and it closed suddenly, as if by magic.

"Look, if you're not going to cooperate, I'll have to force you to stay. I promise, you'll change your mind. I have salad and wine and cheese cubes with those little swords in them . . ."

Claire was curled up in a ball on the ground. She hugged her knees and whimpered feebly. The monster tapped her lightly with his front foot, then picked her up by her shirt collar.

"Let's go inside," he mumbled through a mouthful of cotton, "I'll have a room made up for you."

 _This is not going well._

 _Shut up._


	3. Chapter 3

Owen carried Claire to a dusty room, which was the largest next to his. He couldn't bring her to his own quarters, for obvious reasons. She was quite small, anyway, so she wouldn't be cramped in the slightest.

When she was locked away (as a precaution, of course), Owen carried the precious, white flower to his bedroom and slid it under a glass case, where it became intertwined with a similar plant. He stared at them pensively, then spoke to himself.

"That should buy me some time. Not that I'll need it. Claire seems nice. I'm sure she'll warm up to me."

But warm up, she did not. He brought her down to the banquet hall with a hopeful smile, but when he pulled back the chair next to his, she instead gave him a pointed glare and slid her plate all the way down the ten-foot table to eat on the opposite side. He was put off by this gesture, but decided to grant her some space. After a long, awkward silence, he cleared his throat noisily.

"So, what's it like in the village?"

She waited a moment before responding.

"I don't know."

Owen cocked his head.

"But you _must_ know if you live there . . ."

"It's boring, I guess."

He bit his lower beak.

" . . . Oh. Are the people nice?"

"I guess."

"Do you have lots of friends?"

"No."

"I find that hard to believe."

"I want to go home."

Owen's face fell.

"But . . . I mean, why not stay a little longer? You have free food, clean clothes, a whole castle to explore . . ."

"I'd rather be at home."

"Is it nicer there?"

"No."

"Then why-"

"It's quiet."

Owen detected her not-so-subtle hint, and turned his head in shame. He poked at his dinner for a while, then took a deep breath.

"Do you want dessert?"

"I want to go home."

He nodded.

"Maybe you should go straight to bed," he mumbled softly.

She glared at him and swatted her plate off the table before storming away. Owen gazed at the lonely salad leaves strewn across the floor and let out a doleful sigh.

 _Hey, where's the dancing furniture?_

 _This is a different version._

 _Claire would be the clock . . . or the fat wardrobe._

 _Hush._


	4. Chapter 4

After the disaster that was last night's supper, Owen decided to change his tactics. He waited until Claire started moving around in her room, then knocked on the door after a minute or two so as not to give the impression that he had been standing there for over an hour. Claire did not respond to his knock, so he smiled pleasantly and leaned towards the door.

"Are you up?"

"Go away."

He blinked, then took a deep breath and forced his smile to go wider, though she couldn't see it.

"What do you want for breakfast?"

"I'm not having breakfast."

Owen's tail twitched.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm staying in here."

Ah. Maybe she would be open to eating breakfast . . . just not with him. He could work with that, he supposed. Baby steps, and all . . .

"I can bring you something," he offered.

No reply. Owen was having trouble maintaining his cheerful demeanor.

"Do you want toast?"

A pause.

"Fine."

Owen rushed downstairs, determined to make an impressively rapid delivery. He returned with a golden plate between his horns. On the plate were two warm, crisp slices of toast. The smell of melted butter was making him hungry. He could only pray that Claire would be interested in the meal as well. He knocked on the door.

"I have toast."

"Okay."

Owen waited. When a decent amount of time had passed, his eyes darted back and forth before resting on the door again.

"Are you going to let me in?"

"No."

"How will you get your toast?"

"Slide it under the door."

Owen set the plate reluctantly on the carpet, then pushed it into the room. The toast barely cleared, and he had to un-stack it, which somewhat ruined the aesthetic appeal of the original setup. Hopefully, Claire wouldn't notice.

Owen's tail wagged eagerly as the plate's shadow disappeared. He ran around in an excited circle, then calmed himself.

He waited.

He waited some more.

Slowly, without meaning to, he leaned closer to the door. He could hear a gentle crunching sound. Claire was eating. Owen batted his eyes.

"Is it alright?"

"GO AWAY!"

The order came so suddenly that his first instinct was to leap five feet in the air before scrambling down the hall. He hid behind a suit of armor to catch his breath. That could have gone better.

When he came to his senses, Owen frowned. It had just dawned on him that there was really no reason he should be the one running away. Then again, if Claire was the scare-er and not the scare-ee, it was possible that she was now more comfortable around him. Or maybe she despised him the same amount, but no longer respected him. He hated to admit it, but that was more likely.

There was no doubt that Claire still thought he was a monster, but now her fear had turned to loathing. Was that any better? Neither emotion would be a sufficient stepping stone to friendship, logically. That made things harder. Then again, if Owen had successfully stopped her from being afraid, perhaps he could stop her from hating him too. With any luck, it would go as smoothly as the first transition. But how exactly had he accomplished the feat last time? He couldn't really pinpoint a moment when he had actively changed her attitude. Maybe she needed to work through it on her own. That made sense. The best course of action, then, would be to let her initiate all interaction from now on, so that she could adapt at her own pace. It would be easy, really. All Owen had to do was stay out of her way . . . though he would be forced to resist the urge to help things along, since he was dying to talk to her directly. But that would come later. He was patient. He could wait.

 _Wait for the Stockholm Syndrome to set in._

 _We're all laughing._


	5. Chapter 5

Claire remained in her room for around two hours before she decided that avoiding utter boredom was worth risking an encounter with the monster that was keeping her prisoner. She opened the door slowly, hoping his animal ears wouldn't detect the deep creaking. The last thing she needed was for him to cling to her and force her into conversation.

She roamed the empty halls for quite some time, but as she rounded the thirty-second corner, her heart jumped into her throat. Owen was headed straight for her, and it was too late to hide. She stood still, clenching her teeth with anticipation. Owen did not change his speed until he drew near, at which point he slowed down a little and gave her a gentle nod.

"Hello."

And he continued on his way. Claire looked over her shoulder. Owen did not turn around. He had just . . . left her alone. That was a relief.

She continued to wander the seemingly endless corridors, sometimes stopping to examine an old painting or tapestry, but never for very long. After a few minutes, she encountered Owen again. This time, he nodded to acknowledge her presence, but did not speak. Claire stared at him suspiciously.

For the next half hour, she crossed paths with Owen periodically. Once, she nearly bumped into him. He said nothing, but offered a smile as he passed. She did not like this arrangement.

After what must have been the fifteenth time they entered the same hall, Claire finally snapped. She stomped her foot and balled her hands into fists, gnashing her teeth with rage.

"Stop following me!"

Owen was taken aback.

"I'm not following you."

"And I suppose you just _happen_ to be meeting up with me every few minutes?!"

"I don't mean to, honest! I haven't been going in the same direction as you at all, because I figured that would be . . . unnerving. It's a coincidence we keep running into each other, I swear. I always walk around the castle. I'll admit that it's easy to get turned around, even though I do this every d-"

"Don't play innocent. You're just trying to make it _look_ like a coincidence."

"I promise, it is."

"Yeah, well, if you really meant that, you wouldn't be moving around at all."

Owen backed up a little, tail curling between his legs.

"Oh . . . I'm sorry if I gave the impression that I wanted . . . I mean . . . Goodbye."

He cantered back the way he'd come. Claire watched him leave with a furrowed brow, and when he was out of sight, she kept moving. The next time she saw him, he was sitting in front of a fireplace in what appeared to be a foyer. It was a juncture where several halls met, which indicated that he had placed himself there to increase the odds of Claire entering the room . . . or maybe not, since he did not greet her. He simply stared into the blazing fire, looking sullen and vacant. Claire backed out of the room slowly, thinking he hadn't seen her.

As it turned out, Owen was right about getting turned around in the castle. Claire found herself entering the foyer from different directions about five times. Owen did not take his eyes off the fireplace when she did. Eventually, she accepted the fact that he would not interact with her, and allowed herself to cross the room in order to avoid retracing her steps. Still, she ended up at that same foyer many times. She came to recognize the tall, dark ceiling, and the orange glow that came from the fireplace: the only source of light in the room.

As time went on, the fire grew smaller and smaller. That was not the only change. Claire almost stopped in her tracks when she realized that Owen was no longer sitting, but lying on his belly with his chin resting on his front feet. Odd, considering there was a comfortable-looking armchair behind him. Anyway, that was none of Claire's business.

It was hard to get a sense of the passage of time, since so many windows were covered by dark, dusty drapes, and the sunlight that did enter was so feeble that it might as well have not been there at all. Eventually, though, it became clear that it was getting late. Claire entered the foyer for the last time. The fire was completely out now. Even the embers had stopped glowing. Still, Owen sat in front of it, staring at the flames that were no longer there. Claire took a hesitant step toward him. Then another. She tiptoed to his side, close enough that he would have to be able to see her, even in the darkness. He closed his eyes tight, as though he was in pain. His face was so contorted that he trembled as he struggled to keep his expression from unwinding. Claire looked at him, then at the grey, ash-filled fireplace, and walked away. She left the room, but thinking better of it, peeked through the doorway to spy on her captor. His eyes were open again, and he was still staring straight ahead. He stayed this way for a few seconds more, then slowly got up with stiff legs, and lumbered out of the room with his tail dragging behind him. Claire leaned against the wall and let herself slide into a seated position. She really had no idea if things were going to improve without basic interaction, at the very least.

She would have to be active if she ever wanted to be happy again.

 _Yawn. I don't like this people-drama. Where are the musical numbers? Where's the gorgeous animation? I never thought hybrid dinosaurs could be so BORING._

 _In some versions, the beast is a stag._

 _In other words, he uses antlers in all of his decorating?_

 _Antlers on a stegoceratops. Imagine that._

 _Ridiculous._


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, Claire found Owen sitting at the dinner table, poking his breakfast with a gloomy expression. When he noticed her, he immediately dropped his fork and made his way to the back door. Claire cleared her throat.

"Good morning."

Owen paused. He was clearly shocked that she was talking to him, and what's more, she didn't sound angry. Her response came as such a surprise that he couldn't think of anything to say in return. Claire smiled pleasantly, volunteering the next line.

"I was thinking it would be nice if you could show me around the garden."

Owen's face lit up. His tail wagged back and forth vigorously as he gave an open-mouthed smile.

"Of course! I'd love to!"

Claire raised her eyebrows.

"Great . . . Can we go now?"

He bounded across the room.

"Yes, yes, yes! Follow me!"

He guided her outside, refusing to leave a moment of silence along the way. Claire strutted forward calmly while he circled her like a puppy on speed. She was surprised he was able to squeeze out so many words without breathing in between sentences.

"I just knew you'd find something here you liked! You seem like the gardening type. I should have guessed, really. I'll bet you have wonderful flowers back home."

"Not as nice as these ones."

He gave a dopey laugh.

"Well, you can have any of them, if you want."

"Not the white ones, apparently."

He coughed.

"Yes, well, um, that was . . . Oh, look! The tiger lilies are blooming! They're late this year, but everything else is fine. There's roses, violets, pink roses, something something veriformans, blue flowers- don't eat those ones: they're poisonous."

"I don't really eat flowers."

He laughed awkwardly.

"Yeah, yeah, I guess you wouldn't . . ."

Claire crossed her hands in front of her waist and smiled pleasantly.

"You wouldn't happen to have a shed, would you?"

Owen batted his eyes.

"Yes, but I don't use what's in it. Everything in this castle fixes itself now, so I don't actually garden all that much."

"Can I see it anyway?"

Owen nodded and led her to a small, run-down building. He opened the door, which looked ready to fall off its hinges. When Claire peeked inside, her face lit up. Owen gave her a curious look. She gulped.

"I, uh . . . It's just incredible to see all these tools. I don't have much back home, and . . . Do you mind if I do some gardening?"

"Go ahead."

Claire peeked over his shoulder.

"Maybe we can start with those roses over there. Can you check to make sure there are no caterpillars on the bush?"

Owen darted over to the patch of foliage she was referring to. He began to search the leaves with intense focus. He was on a mission. A caterpillar-finding mission. A mission assigned by Claire. Claire, who no longer hated him. It felt good.

"You know, I could tell right away that we'd get along just fine," he reflected as he moved the branches in different directions, "I know we got off to a rocky start, but I'm really glad you came around. It sounds silly, but when I saw you standing in the garden, something told me that you'd be able to look past my . . . less endearing features . . . and give me a chance. You're as kind as you are pretty, and- Well, I'm sure you get this all the time, but you really are . . . _something_."

"Mhm."

"I mean, it's not often that I get to see real, live people, but I know a good-looking girl when I see one."

"Mhm."

"You just have one of those faces, you know? Looks aren't everything, of course, but you have to understand that you are so, so lucky to be beautiful. When you're good-looking, people are willing to give you a chance. You say you don't have many friends in the village, but I don't believe it. I wouldn't doubt that people are throwing themselves at you all the time. They'll be worried about you, I'm sure . . ."

He took a deep breath.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm sorry for forcing you to stay here against your will, but I really didn't have a choice. I guess I shouldn't have scared you in the first place, but . . . let's face it: with a mug like this, it's hard to come off as charming. Anyway, I can't tell you how grateful I am that you decided to look past that and get to know me. Most people wouldn't. I'm lucky that- of all the people in the world- you were the one who found me, because you're quite possibly the prettiest, smartest, most wonderful person I've ever met . . . not that I know you very well, but I hope we can change that. Anyway, I guess what I'm saying is that I'm infinitely grateful that you were able to look deep into your heart and give me a ch-"

As he turned to face her, he realized that she was no longer present. Upon further examination, he noticed a ladder leaning against the wall. His eyes went wide.

"FUCK!"

A few yards away, Claire heard a terrible bellow coming from the castle. She forced herself to run as fast as her legs could take her, though they were already starting to ache. When she heard thunderous footsteps approaching her, she shrieked and darted between the trees like her life depended on it, which it very well might. Owen was gaining, and fast.

"CLAIRE, WAIT! WE SHOULD TALK ABOUT THIS!"

"NO! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

She grabbed a branch as she ran by it, letting it go just in time to slash Owen's eye. He roared.

"OW! STOP THAT!"

"NO!"

She picked up a rock and threw it at his face. It bounced off his forehead. He grunted.

"Okay, that one didn't hurt as much."

"But _this_ will."

Claire grabbed a large chunk of wood and clubbed him over the snout. He snorted involuntarily and fell to his knees.

"Urgh! Why are you doing this?"

"Because I want to es-CAPE!"

She punctuated her sentence with a final swing, then continued her sprint. Owen stood up unsteadily and pursued her. He kicked up mud and leaves as he ran. The melted snow had left the ground dangerously slippery.

"Claire, come back!" he pleaded, "I promise to do better! I'll get twice as much toast, and- and-"

"I don't _want_ your toast!" she growled, "I want-AAAAAAAAAH!"

She tripped and slid down a steep hill, which ended in a cliff. Owen brayed in panic.

"CLAIRE!"

She disappeared over the edge. Quickly, he rushed down to where she had fallen, taking care not to topple over, himself. When he peeked over the ledge, he saw Claire clinging to a dead tree that was growing out of the earth horizontally. Her knuckles were white, and her legs were dangling freely over a drop that would almost certainly kill her. Owen extended his arm.

"Claire, grab my hand!"

"No! You don't even _have_ hands!"

"Grab my foot, then."

"No!"

"You'll die!"

"I'd rather die than come back with you!"

Owen winced, then shook his head.

"No, Claire. Listen, you don't have to come back with me. Just take my hand, and let me pull you up. I promise, I'll let you go."

"Liar! How can I trust you? You're a monster!"

"That may be true, but I won't let you die."

He reached for her. She let the hand closest to him drop.

"Don't touch me!"

"Claire, please . . ."

"Go away!"

"I promise, I won't force you to stay. You have my word. I grant you your freedom. Just take my hand . . ."

Her fingers were starting to slip. She eyed his extended arm, conflicted. A bead of sweat trickled down Owen's forehead. He reached further.

"Claire . . ."

She took a shaky breath and closed her eyes. Owen was inches away from her. Suddenly, the earth beneath him gave way, and he plunged towards the forest below. His tail slammed into the tree that Claire was holding onto, and it splintered. They were both in free-fall, but it did not last long. Claire landed in a pile of muck and leaves, winded and caked in filth, but otherwise fine. Owen was not so lucky. He slammed into a fallen tree with great force. A branch stub pierced his shoulder, and he gave a terrible wail. When he stood up, the log cracked, and he took a handful of splinters with him. Blood poured down his arm, and he staggered backwards woozily.

Claire shifted.

Owen lowed, then began to hobble towards her to discern whether or not she was injured as well. When she saw him coming, she stood up unsteadily and backed away in fear. He slowed to a stop. They stood staring into each other's eyes for what felt like an eternity. Then, Owen turned away with a remorseful frown, lumbering back towards his castle. His dripping blood stained the fallen leaves as he prepared for the uphill journey. He wondered if he would even be able to make it back. His limp indicated that he probably wouldn't. All things considered, he was ready to just give up.

To his surprise, he was lifted to his feet. Claire swung his uninjured arm over her shoulder and allowed him to lean against her. He stared at her with wide eyes, but she did not return his gaze. She seemed determined to get back to the castle, though Owen couldn't imagine why.

Even so, he wasn't about to question her actions.

 _Like the audience is doing, I'm sure._

 _No comment._


	7. Chapter 7

As Claire plucked each scrap of wood from Owen's shoulder, he flinched in pain, bunching up random muscles beneath his crimson scales. Sometimes, he would make a quiet rumbling sound, at which point Claire would pause to let him recover before going at it again. He had lost a lot of blood on the way back, and felt a little lightheaded because of it, but he was confident he'd live through the night . . . thanks to Claire, of course. When she removed the last wood-shard from his flesh, she placed it in a bowl with the other pieces, then dabbed his shoulder with a wet cloth. It hurt, but it was a good kind of pain: the kind that would be followed by healing. As for the other bruises and cuts caused directly by her, those would fade with time too, though Owen was currently having trouble opening the eye that the branch had struck. Not that he wanted to look at anything in particular, and especially not at Claire. He had been avoiding the kind of gawking that made her shy, for fear that he'd somehow scare her away again, but now that he was fairly confident she wasn't about to up and leave, he allowed himself to take a quick peek. She had wiped away most of the mud that was caking her side, though there were traces of it where her clothing met her skin. Her hair was as tangled as that of a wild-woman, and her dress was definitely not going to be salvageable. It looked like . . . well, like she had fallen from a cliff. She had come out virtually unscathed, only there was a gash on her cheek . . .

"You're hurt."

Without thinking, Owen reached out and touched the cut. Claire tensed up a little, making him feel like an idiot for forgetting that they weren't exactly on a touchy-feely basis, but the embarrassment soon passed when she exhaled and ran her fingers over her skin.

"It's not that bad. It probably won't even scar. I'm not the one with a hole in my shoulder, anyway."

Owen gave a half-smile.

"I guess that's true. Still, it's my fault we fell-"

"No, it really isn't. If I hadn't slipped, you wouldn't have had to rescue me."

"Well, it's my fault you ran away."

"How?"

Owen opened his mouth, but found he couldn't come up with an immediate answer. He gave an uncertain moo.

"You really don't know why I wanted to leave, do you?" Claire marveled.

He looked away in shame.

"I guess it must have had something to do with the way I look . . ."

"No. I mean, I was frightened by you at first, but what really made me foul was the fact that you locked me in your castle without so much as an explanation for why you needed me in the first place."

He sighed.

"I suppose it would have been helpful to make things clear from the start . . ."

"That's very much true."

"At least I can explain myself now."

"I'm not sure you'll need to. I'm leaving tomorrow at first light."

Owen gulped.

"Oh . . . That's fair. I won't stop you, this time."

He stared into the fireplace, which was still blazing at full force. Claire scanned his face, exhaled, then sat beside him on the sofa, which they had pulled across the room to facilitate her now-completed task.

"You know, you can still tell me, if you want."

Owen let out a slow breath.

"Imagine that you were inches away from having a 'happily ever after', but the one thing keeping you from your goal is something that you'll never be able to change, because its very existence was set up in such a way that you're pretty much screwed."

Claire blinked.

"I don't follow."

"It's like this . . . it's theoretically possible for me to have a perfect life with the help of another person, but the problem is that I can't tell them exactly why, or it destroys all hope of getting to that happiness. More than anything, I want to explain that I can be greater than what I am- something better- but if I do, the whole trick behind this situation is pointless, because in order to overcome this obstacle, the person would have to accept it, and that's never going to happen."

Claire cocked her head.

"How can you be sure?"

"Because no one- not even you- is forgiving enough to look past . . . what's holding me back. So now I'm trapped in a place where I should be able to live happily ever after in theory, but in practice, it's absolutely impossible. I'll admit that I sometimes allow myself to hope that I'm wrong, but that's just not how life works. I've pretty much given up on living a normal life, but I was hoping I could live a life that comes as close to normal as humanly possible, under the circumstances."

"What are you saying?"

Owen gave a sad rumble.

"I was keeping you here because I thought that if I could befriend you, I might eventually be able to convince you to go down to the village and let everyone know that I'm not really a monster."

"And you don't think I can still do that? . . ."

He shot her a dismal smile.

"After the way I treated you, I doubt you'd have anything nice to say."

Claire looked into the fire and took a deep breath.

"Why do you want the villagers to think you're not a monster?"

"Well, aside from the obvious reasons . . . I've grown tired of living up here, all alone. When I started out, I thought I could pull it off, but it's harder than you think. You always hear people talking about how they want to be alone and free, but they don't know what it's like to _really_ be alone. They can't imagine how it feels to never have someone to tell you you're right or wrong for thinking the way you do, to never hear another person's voice or feel their warmth or see their face. When you're truly alone, you start to wonder if your thoughts are those of a lunatic, and when you really think about it, the reason you're worried about going crazy is not because you care about your own health, but because you know that if anyone were to find you, they'd think you were no better than an animal. And that's when you realize that you _do_ care about how others see you, because you can never live for just yourself. The self is nothing without other people, because when you get down to it, you can be symbolically free and do whatever you want, but it's never as sweet as sharing your life with another person."

Claire examined his face, as though she was seeing him for the first time. After a moment, Owen realized that he had done quite a bit of talking, and cleared his throat dismissively.

"I'm just rambling, really. I don't know what I'm saying."

Claire stood up and made her way towards the door.

"I'm going to get some rest."

Owen nodded.

"I guess I'd better say goodbye now, in case I don't see you in the morning."

"There's no need."

Owen winced.

"Right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed you'd want-"

"There's no need because I'm not leaving," she clarified, "If you really want to come down to the village, I can make it happen, but first, we need to make sure you fit in. I'll teach you everything you need to know. Until then, goodnight."

Owen stood petrified in front of the fireplace, watching her disappear with a hanging jaw. He was so stunned that he forgot to wish her a good night's sleep, but he was certain she knew he would have done it if he was in his right mind. At the moment, he felt quite unsure of himself, not knowing how to feel about this development. He made his way up to his room with a worried frown, but as he snuggled beneath the covers, he smiled warmly.

That's when he decided that he felt very happy, indeed.

 _Stockholm Syndrome._

 _SHUT UP._


	8. Chapter 8

The sun radiated joy the next morning. Claire found herself not-quite-sleeping in the warm beams that crossed her bed, arm draped delicately over her forehead and hair askew. She sighed deeply, then rolled over.

 _Thp-thp-thp-thp-thp._

She opened her eyes. The sound was coming from outside.

 _Thp-thp-thp-thp-thp._

She opened the window and looked around. As she scanned the courtyard, she discovered the source of the noise. Owen was lapping up water from the river like a dog. Claire winced, then got dressed and made her way downstairs. When she exited the castle, Owen was no longer drinking, but grazing. He tore up clumps of grass greedily, chewing like a slobbery bull. When he noticed her staring at him, he froze. After a pause, he let his jaw drop, and with it, a pile of chewed lawn. He quickly spat out the rest and wiped his mouth.

"I guess I can't do that anymore, right?"

"Probably not."

She nodded to the castle.

"Come with me."

She brought him up to a room with a tub, which she decided would be large enough to accommodate his generous girth. His face brightened when he deduced her plan.

"Oh, great! This should be fun. I haven't taken a bath in _years_ . . ."

Claire shot him a look, and he smiled sheepishly.

"Pretend I didn't say that . . ."

She rolled her eyes and reached for a pail to fill the tub, but a porcelain face suddenly emerged from the wall and spewed steaming water into it, moaning like an animal. When the job was done, it disappeared. Claire stared at the wall with wide eyes.

"It's magic," Owen said breezily, as if that somehow explained everything.

Claire shook her head with disbelief, but decided to let it go. She pointed to the tub.

"Get in."

Owen tested the water with his toe, then prepared to slip inside. Claire held him back.

"Take your clothes off, first."

His plates went rigid.

"What?"

"You can't bathe in tattered rags."

"But I'll be naked."

"Yeah."

"But you're- I'm not- This isn't decent!"

She crossed her arms.

"You're covered in scales. It's no big deal."

He gulped.

"Alright, if you say so . . ."

He removed his clothing, then stepped into the bathtub, keeping his front feet over his crotch the whole time. Claire rolled her eyes.

"Jesus, there's nothing _there_!"

Owen frowned indignantly.

"I'll have you know that-"

"Please don't finish that sentence."

She grabbed a bar of soap and started scrubbing. Owen sat complacently, watching the bubbles drift by.

"You know, I'm bound to get dirty eventually . . ."

"And when you do, you'll take another bath. We can't have you smelling like body odor and grass."

"I guess that means I have to brush my teeth, too."

"Yes."

"That won't be too hard. I only have sixteen of them . . ."

He grunted as she lifted his arm.

"You know, I'm perfectly capable of doing this myself."

"And yet you smell terrible constantly."

"Hey, that's a manly musk!"

"I don't know many men who smell like wet dog."

"I don't even have fur!"

"Which makes your stench all the more alarming."

Owen gave a foul grumble, but was soon distracted by a floating bubble. He popped it with his front horn. As Claire scrubbed between his plates, he pushed the water around with his front feet, making tiny whirlpools. It sloshed over the edge quite suddenly. Claire leapt back and examined her soaked shoes with a concerned grimace. Owen gulped.

"Sorry . . ."

"It's fine," she muttered as she kicked them off, "They were pretty damaged from the cliff incident, anyway."

Owen frowned sadly.

"You know, if you need new ones, I'm sure there's a pair somewhere in the castle . . ."

"Mhm. I found the wardrobe while I was exploring the other day. That's where we're going next."

"Cool. Are we done here?"

"Almost."

She rubbed his face with a wet cloth, shining his beak and polishing his horns. When the job was done, they held each other's gaze for longer than was natural. Then, Claire stood up and nodded to the door.

"Let's get going."

And she shrieked as Owen shook himself dry.

When they arrived in the wardrobe room, they took turns getting dressed in different outfits. Owen asked if he might look better with a wig, and the answer to that was definitely "no". Claire, herself, tried a powdered wig just for fun, but the novelty wore off when she realized that it was filled with moths. They inspected the rest of the attire, but the clothing itself was pretty much untouched by insects of any kind. Eventually, Claire found the perfect outfit for Owen: one that really lent an air of regality to his figure. Of course, it was strange to observe the disconnect between what he was wearing and what his shape implied, but Claire had to admit that there was something interesting about that. He was a lot less threatening in velvet, anyway.

As simple as it was to find an outfit for Owen, Claire had difficulty finding one for herself, which was very much necessary, considering the state of her current dress. Every time she came out of the dressing room to show off her newest look, Owen would wag his tail enthusiastically and affirm that this combination was ten times better than the last, which seemed mathematically impossible, given the number of dresses she had tried on. She finally emerged in a green gown, and Owen's eyes began to sparkle.

"Wow, I didn't think green was going to be your color, but it suits you. We should find some jewelry to go with it."

Claire held up her hands.

"Oh, that's fine. You've already given me enough-"

He draped a heavy necklace over her arm. She appraised it with wide eyes.

"I can't take this! It's crystal!"

Owen slapped his forehead.

"Oh, right!"

He took it back and returned with diamonds. Claire stared at him with a hanging jaw as he blinked obliviously.

"Owen . . . I can't accept this. Diamonds are far too valuable for a country girl like me."

He cocked his head.

"Don't you wear them all the time?"

"Why would I?"

"Well, people must give them to you."

She laughed.

"God, no! Why would they do that?"

"Because you're so pretty."

Claire smirked and started picking up the unused clothing, which was strewn across the floor.

"Well, being pretty doesn't get you a whole lot on its own."

"It oughta."

"How do you figure?"

"If you're pretty, you get diamonds and friendship. If you're ugly, you get torches and pitchforks."

Claire snorted.

"That's just an expression. No one ever-"

She fell silent when she saw that he was being literal. Slowly, he lifted the side of his shirt to reveal a long, jagged scar.

"This isn't the first time I've thought about going to the village."

Claire's stomach dropped. She bit her lip and turned away.

"I'm sorry. I just didn't think . . . I mean, does this happen _often_ with you?"

He nodded.

"I don't think I've met a single person who hasn't attacked me at some point. You're the nicest so far, but you did beat me with a stick . . ."

"That was in self defense."

"I guess so. I don't mean to scare people, but sometimes I come across as . . . you know."

Claire smiled.

"Then we'll have to teach you how to socialize."

And so began the part of Owen's preening that he enjoyed the least. For the next few hours, Claire forced him to repeat the same dialogue over and over until he got it right. It was a slog, to say the least.

"Can I buy some grain?"

" _May_ you buy some grain, _please_."

"Do I _have_ to say please?"

"Unless you want to be slain by a hail of arrows."

"You're being dramatic."

"Manners are important."

He took a deep breath.

"Can I buy some grain, please?"

"May."

He banged his head on the table.

"Shit."

"You'll get it eventually," Claire reassured him, "If you can do job interviews, you can do this."

Owen groaned.

"Why do I even _need_ a job? I live in a _castle_."

"It teaches you work ethic. I learned most of what I know from my time as a maid."

He draped his hand over hers sympathetically.

"You aren't made to work, Claire, and it's a shame you ever did."

"Well, how am I supposed to put bread on the table?"

"I'll pay for you, and for the record, you'll have something far nicer than bread."

Claire chuckled.

"Yeah, well, good luck paying two property taxes."

"I don't pay for the castle."

"No, I meant yours and mine."

Owen blinked.

"Oh! Respectively, you mean."

"Yeah, unless you were thinking of living together," she giggled.

"Is that an option?"

Claire narrowed her eyes.

"No . . ."

Owen laughed nervously.

"Yeah, I know. I was just joking."

Claire took a deep breath.

"Anyway, all this interaction shouldn't be hard, as long as you learn to communicate. You have a few issues in that area, I noticed."

"Such as?"

"Not telling me why you needed to keep me here . . ."

"I told you eventually . . ."

"Breaking for lunch when I went to the bathroom, leaving me alone . . ."

"I'm a big guy. I need to eat."

"Not telling me what those flowers are for . . ."

He choked a little.

"Why do you keep asking about them?"

"Because I want to know."

"It's none of your business."

"It's absolutely my business, considering I chose to help you."

"It's not important."

". . . you say as you keep two flowers hidden in a glass case in your room, which is always locked. Something tells me they're not just a centerpiece."

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"I can't possibly explain."

"You said I wouldn't understand. Which is it: do you not know how to tell me, or do you think I'm too stupid to get it?"

"You're not stupid."

"So tell me."

Owen could tell that she wasn't going to drop the subject. He let out a slow, reluctant sigh, then closed his eyes.

"Before I tell you, I need to know if there's a chance that . . . that you like me, even a little."

"Sure, I like you."

Owen's eyes flicked open.

"You do?"

"Yeah, you're a decent friend."

"Oh, _friend_ ," Owen hummed.

Suddenly, his face lit up.

" _Friend_? You consider me a _friend_?"

Claire shrugged.

"Sure, I mean, you're rather nice, aside from the fact that you kidnapped me and held me on these grounds against my will-"

"Again, really sorry about that."

"-but yeah, I guess I consider you a friend."

He smiled at her for a very long time. She shrunk away shyly.

"What? . . ."

"I've never had a friend before," Owen mused, "This is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Claire smiled and scratched behind his nostril.

"The best thing until you move to the village, that is."

 _That's sweet . . . Hey, where'd you go?_

 _I'm trying to sleep._

 _You're the one who suggested this . . ._

 _I didn't think it would be BORING._

 _So let's spice things up._

 _Hell, it's about time._


	9. Chapter 9

Claire and Owen spent the rest of their training day going over things like diction and grammar. The latter was especially hard for Owen, who was convinced he "ain't in need of no word classes". Even so, Claire persuaded him to go through with it, and he surprised her with his ability to write (although he managed to misspell several basic words). As he dipped his quill in a bottle of ink (tilting his head, for he was holding it in his beak), Claire watched him with awe. She was only now starting to realize how strange it was to witness the actions of a sentient animal, who by all accounts should not exist. How was it that a dinosaur had learned to read, write, talk, and compose himself like a human, nevermind the fact that he owned a magic castle full of endless riches. It was the kind of strangeness that Claire might have accepted or forgotten if she had gone through with her plan of escaping, but now she looked into the poor beast's eyes and wondered how he had come to live like this. He was, after all, a person, albeit an unusual one, but even the strangest people must come from _somewhere_. What was Owen's story? She decided not to ask, since it seemed like the kind of thing that would prompt a vague, evasive answer, like when she asked about the flowers.

After a long study-session, the two of them retired to the courtyard, where they sat by an old fountain. It was a lot smaller than the one by the front of the castle where they had first met, but the water was clear and cold from the shade provided by the tall borders. Owen attempted to drink, but his frill got in the way. Five or six times, he conked his head on the border, and came back with a dry tongue. Claire bent over and scooped up a decent amount of liquid. She held out both hands for Owen, who began to lap up the water directly from them. When he realized what he was doing, he sputtered and wiped his mouth.

"God, I'm sorry. Sometimes I forget . . ."

"No, it's fine," Claire asserted, "I don't want you to die of thirst."

"There are plenty of other ways I'd die before dying of thirst, I think."

Claire gave a puzzled frown, but Owen suddenly snapped to attention.

"Are you thirsty?"

She shrugged.

"I can't exactly drink fountain water . . ."

"You don't have to. Back in the dining room, I have a bottle of very fancy wine. I've been saving it for a special occasion. Since I passed Day One of my training, I figured we ought to celebrate."

And celebrate, they did. As the sun dipped down over distant mountains, Claire and Owen shared the wine, drinking until the bottle was nearly empty. Claire poured herself another glass with shaky hands.

"Wow, where did you even _get_ this stuff? It's fantastic!"

He hiccupped.

"It's always been here. Ever since . . . Ever since I started living alone."

Claire downed her drink rather quickly.

"You know, I've never really had wine bef- Wait, you lived with other people?"

"Mhm. My parents."

"Were they like you?"

Owen shrugged.

"Well, my mother was rather kind, but my father-"

"No, I mean, were they dinosaurs?"

Owen stared at her, slightly alarmed. Claire didn't seem to notice. She reached out and poked his beak.

"Hey, did you hatch from an egg?"

He looked away. She put her hand on his.

"Where did you come from?"

Owen took a deep breath.

"I've always lived here. Back when my parents were alive, we ruled over a wonderful kingdom."

He expected Claire to question the fact that a dinosaur could do such things, but she was playing with her hair, so he continued his story.

"My mother was kind and stable, but my father . . . He wanted more out of life. He clearcut the enchanted forest in order to expand our property, but it was filled with fairies- you know what fairies are, right?"

Claire nodded loosely.

"I'm seeing some right now."

"Anyway, they didn't take too kindly to his construction, so they . . . Well, they intended to put a curse on him, but he decided that if he could get away with a trade . . ."

Owen closed his eyes.

"When he got back, my mother had no idea what had happened. She asked him where he had been all night. Instead of telling her, he ordered her to bring me to him. She asked him why, and he still wouldn't explain himself. By this point, I was hiding in the pantry, because I knew something was terribly wrong with me, and I couldn't allow anyone to see. My father called my name. I didn't want to respond, at first. He started yelling . . . I was more afraid of what would happen if I ignored him, so I got out of the pantry and crawled into the front hall. My mother was shocked to see me, but my father expected it. He grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and threw me outside. 'He's for the wolves now', he said. He locked the door, so I ran away for a brief period of time. I've never been as scared as I was that night. I remember it was cold out, and for the first time, I felt snow on my bare feet. I went to the enchanted forest to get help, but found that what was done was done, and all I could do was go home. I didn't know how to face my mother and father, I was so ashamed of what had happened to me. Even so, I knew I would die if I stayed out in the cold, so I chose to go back and pray that they'd take me in. Eventually, I managed to sneak back into the castle through a secret passage, but I discovered that my father had left. Rather, he had been kicked out. My mother was crying at the table, I remember, and I was too afraid to step out into the open. I accidentally knocked over a bag of flour, and she saw me hiding in the shadows. She reached out and pulled me into the light, and when I started crying, she held me against her chest and said, 'Don't you cry. This ain't your fault. What your Daddy's done, it ain't your job to suffer in his place'. But I _did_ suffer. No matter whose fault it was that I ended up this way, I couldn't possibly explain my situation to the villagers. They wouldn't understand. So, naturally, I couldn't leave the castle. Ma didn't either. She stayed with me so I wouldn't get lonely. We used to chase each other through the halls, sit and read by the fireplace, eat breakfast together . . . Then she got sick. She couldn't get out of bed, and I knew that if I didn't get help, she'd die. I ran to the village, desperate to find a doctor, but when I tried talking to the people, they . . . Well, you can probably guess how _that_ turned out. By the time I got back, the castle was dark. I made my way up to my mother's bedroom, and . . . and she wasn't breathing. She was gone. I should have been there. She _died_ because of me. If I wasn't a monster, I could have gone to the village sooner, brought up a doctor . . . but that's not the way it happened. Things changed after that. The castle grew darker, the halls emptier, and this magic started to set in. I'll never know if it was the fairies taking pity on me or the spirit of my mother trying to help in any way she could, but an enchantment was born, and it kept me alive for all these years. Not a day goes by that I don't wonder if things might have gone differently if I was braver, or maybe a little less ugly. I wonder if I'm destined to be hated by everyone, or if there's someone out there who can see me for who I am, not _what_ I am. I promised myself that if I couldn't find that person, I'd at least try to fit in as much as possible. I know people will never _truly_ accept me, but if I can live among them and help them along, I might be able to do good. I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of the way I look."

Claire seemed to be listening, but her eyes were a little hazy. Owen placed his front foot beneath her chin and gave her a serious stare.

"Claire, I've only ever loved two people in this world, and one of them is dead. If I ask you to help me win the trust of the villagers, will it change the way they look at you?"

Claire blinked with one eye, then the other.

"Wha? Naw, I dun think so. Yer pretty nice, I think, so it's no big deal . . ."

"But will you be shunned for doing this?"

"Hey, you know me: I'm super cool with whatever. I like ya'a lot, and I think the villagers will too."

Owen nodded slowly.

"I promise, Claire, I'll try to do right by them . . . and you. I wasn't joking when I said I'd keep you from working, if I could. I'll give you anything you want."

"More wine?"

Owen poured the remnants into her glass. She slurped it up woozily.

"God, that's good . . ." she panted.

Owen took a deep breath.

"Claire, can I tell you something?"

"Mhm."

"You're the most amazing person I've ever met."

"Yeah . . ."

"It means so much to me that you consider me a friend . . . that you _like_ me."

"I like you'lot, yeah."

"I like you, too. Very much. I've never felt this way about anyone before."

"Urmphur," she said through her hand, which she was leaning on crookedly.

"Claire . . . I think I might _love_ you."

She sat up straight.

"You _what_?"

He leaned forward and gave her a kiss. Her eyes went wide. Without warning, she pulled away and slapped him. He gave a surprised yowl and rubbed his cheek.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" she spat.

"I- I thought you wanted-"

"WHY WOULD I WANT _THIS_? WE HAVE _BOUNDARIES_!"

" _Boundaries_?" he echoed indignantly, "You _bathed_ me this morning!"

"You can _bathe_ a dog!"

After a second, Owen picked up on her meaning.

"So I'm a _dog_ now?"

"Not literally! Look, you're an animal, and everything we've done so far is perfectly okay, but then you have to ruin it all with a kiss!"

"I bared my heart to you . . ."

"So now I _owe_ you something?" she snarled, "Who was it who healed you when you made us fall down a cliff? Who was it who stayed here, even though she ought to have run away, considering what you did to her? Who was it who offered to give you the one thing you've always wanted, even though she had no reason to? I've been _kind_ to you, Owen. _Too_ kind. I trusted you not to push my limits, and you just broke that trust. You can forget this stupid mission. It's hopeless. You'll never be anything more than an animal."

Owen turned, knocking over his chair, and bolted for his room. Claire stumbled out of her own chair bitterly and made her way to the front hall.

"Goddamn idiot. Who does he think he is? He's been taking advantage of me this whole time . . ."

She reached for her coat, but paused. She could hear sobbing coming from upstairs. Slowly, she turned around and hobbled to a hall that led to the staircase, rubbing her forehead.

"Oh, god. What am I _doing_?"

She passed several rooms before arriving at Owen's, including her own. She stood by the doorway for a moment, then gathered up her wavering courage and knocked.

"Owen? . . ."

He sniffed.

"You left your necklace in the foyer."

"No, that's not what I'm here for. I'm not leaving."

She heard a shifting sound.

"Why not?"

"Because . . . you still need help, and this wasn't entirely your fault. I should have been clearer about what our relationship entailed. I never set any ground rules, and I'm sorry if I led you to believe . . . _things_. It's just weird, you know? It's not that I don't like you as a person, and maybe if you were human . . . I dunno. Things might be different."

She caught herself.

"But it's just unnatural. I'm not sure how it would even _work_. I mean, I want to live a normal life, maybe have a family someday . . . We're just not compatible."

"I understand."

"And it's not like you're alone. I'm sure there's some dinosaur-lady out there who would be happy to have you."

"I'm the only one of my kind, but I appreciate the thought."

He opened the door.

"I'm sorry. I really blew it. I shouldn't have asked for more than what you've already given to me. I guess it was a pretty shitty way to show my gratitude."

She gave a half-smile.

"It's alright. Really. We can just forget about it and move on."

"Are you sure?"

She gave him a hug. He patted her on the back awkwardly, then let go.

"I promise it won't happen again."

"Alright. See you tomorrow."

He waved goodbye when she did, then closed the door and turned to his glass case. The two flowers were still intertwined. What was it that Claire had said about things being different if he were human? Well, whatever she meant by that, it didn't matter. If she couldn't love him this way, there was no hope of that.

But at least he had a friend. That was something.

 _Friendzoned._

 _I won't dignify that with an answer._


	10. Chapter 10

When Owen slid Claire's toast under the door the next day, he heard a deep groan. There was a muffled muttering coming from inside the room, and he was sure it comprised of actual words, though he couldn't make anything out distinctly. He pressed his ear-hole against the crack between the double doors.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you. You'll have to speak up."

"Shhh! Not so loud!" she whispered furiously, "I was asking if you have any water."

Owen smiled.

"I do. I also brought orange juice. I can't slip them under the door, so I'll just leave-"

"Come in, then."

Owen was petrified.

"In?"

"Yes, come in."

"Into your room? . . ."

"Yes! Hurry!"

Owen jimmied the door handle with his beak, then balanced the two glasses on his tail as he made his way towards Claire's bed. The sheets were tangled, as was Claire's hair, and she looked like she had been run over by fifty horses. She reached for the water and downed it in one swallow, wincing in pain.

"I don't remember much of last night," she confessed.

Owen breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh, good."

"I remember you kissed me . . ."

He gulped.

"Nevermind."

She rubbed the space between her eyes.

"Didn't you also say something about your mother and father?"

Owen shook his head.

"No, I don't think so."

"I must have dreamed it, then."

"Probably."

"There are things that almost certainly happened, though. I'm positive you said 'I love you'."

"I never said you love me."

"No, I mean, the other way around."

Owen's eyes darted back and forth.

"You must have dreamed that, too."

"So, you don't love me?"

"No."

He gave a little jump.

"I mean, yes."

His eye twitched.

"I love you in the sense that you're my friend, but it's a purely platonic relationship . . . not that I was thinking about the alternative . . ."

"So why did you kiss me, then?"

"I . . . Well, I was drunk."

"At your weight, I'm surprised you even got a buzz."

Owen shrunk away with shame, and Claire bit her lip.

"That came out meaner than I wanted. Anyway, whatever happened last night was a mistake. I probably made a fool of myself, too."

"Not as much as _I_ did."

"I dunno. I was thinking about it, and if you _did_ say that you love me, there's no harm in that on its own. I mean, if a dinosaur goes after a human, that's just their animal nature."

"Thank you," he said flatly.

"I don't mean it in a bad way. All I'm saying is that there's nothing wrong with you liking me. You can't help it. You're governed by instinct. If _I_ had feelings for _you_ , on the other hand, it would be . . . questionable."

"So the kiss was no big deal?"

"It was."

He pointed at her accusingly (if extending his front foot could be considered pointing).

"Ha! You wouldn't be saying that if you didn't have feelings for me!"

Claire frowned.

"For your information, kissing someone without their permission is rather rude, and what do you care, anyway? We just established that you aren't allowed to like me."

"I thought it was in my 'animal nature'."

"Real mature."

"Mature? You got plastered last night and led me to believe that I could confess my deepest, darkest secrets to you, so don't lecture _me_ about being mature!"

She grabbed her head.

"Stop yelling."

"Then stop being a jerk!"

She crossed her arms.

"At least _I_ don't kiss people without their consent."

There was a long silence. Owen glared at her as she glowered at the foot of the bed, refusing to make eye contact. This hostile ambiance continued until Owen turned away without saying a word. Claire uncrossed her arms, grabbed his horn, and pulled him back towards her.

"Wait. Let me explain myself."

She took a deep breath.

"What happened last night was as embarrassing for me as it was for you. I've never really been exposed to wine, much less the expensive kind, so things got a little out of control. What we said last night doesn't matter-"

"But it _does_ ," he interjected, "You used that excuse before we went to bed, but we can't just ignore what happened. The things we said may have been fueled by alcohol and loneliness, but that doesn't mean they came from nowhere. We need to clear the air."

"Fine. Tell me why you kissed me last night."

Owen grimaced, but gave a sigh of defeat.

"The truth is, you're the first person who's shown me compassion in a long time, and I mistook that for attraction. You're very kind and pretty, and I like you a lot, but I won't ask for anything more than friendship, because I'd rather have a platonic companion than risk everything by trying to fan a flame that doesn't exist."

Claire nodded.

"Okay. I have to say, I'm a little worried about the way you feel, but I believe you when you say you can keep it under control."

"Good. On an unrelated note, last night, you said if I were human, things would be different . . ."

Claire groaned.

"Oh, for the love of god . . . Fine. I _did_ say that. What I meant was that you have a tolerable personality, but we just can't be together. You have to understand that if- _IF-_ I had feelings for you, it would be really, really weird, and I just can't have that kind of label slapped on me."

Owen held up his foot.

"I understand. You have a reputation to uphold, and you must deny your throbbing lust."

Claire sat up straight.

"HOW DARE-"

She saw that he was smiling.

"Oh . . . It was a joke."

He nodded sheepishly.

"I'm not good at jokes."

Claire smirked.

"No, it's fine. I've been told that I have a poor sense of humor."

"That's not true," Owen beamed, "You've made me laugh several times since you got here."

"Like when I beat you with a stick?"

"That _was_ pretty funny."

She patted his cheek.

"Alright, then. Enough goofing around. We need to start our lesson."

"Does that mean you're feeling better?"

"I can deal with it. Just don't let me drink wine ever again."

"I don't intend to."

 _Bleh. Can't we just end this now?_

 _Why do you never support me when I write?_

 _Because it's my job to be your biggest critic._

 _You're just acting like a dick, actually._


	11. Chapter 11

The two of them traveled through the halls quietly, but their silence was not awkward in the slightest. They were simply drowsy from the night prior, which had given them nothing more than a troubled sleep, and perhaps a bit of a hangover. The effects of the drink were beginning to wear off, however, and their feet were made light with anticipation. When they passed a painting of three figures, Claire stopped to admire it.

"I don't think I've seen _this_ one before. Is it new?"

Owen snorted.

"Of course. Last night, I strolled down to the village and had it commissioned, because I can totally do that kind of thing without being shot."

"Alright, you don't have to get sassy. They look like a happy family, anyway."

Owen's eyes became distant.

"For a while, I suppose."

He shook his head.

"Anyway, the painting's not going anywhere. We should keep moving."

They rounded the corner in order to cross a hall that Claire was not fond of. Living arms held torches to illuminate the corridor, moving back and forth eerily as the two of them passed. Owen trudged on, paying them no mind, but Claire gravitated towards him, hunching her shoulders fearfully.

"This magic isn't _dangerous_ , is it?"

"I don't think so. I've lived with it for many years, and it's never caused me any trouble."

"I'm not a big fan of the supernatural."

"Me neither. I mean, it's nice to have things done for you, but I'd rather be able to live among people, even if it means doing the laundry every now and then."

One of the arms made a sudden swoop, and Claire touched Owen's shoulder in panic. After a moment, she pulled her hand away and sneered at him.

"Are you _flexing_?"

"Maybe a little. _Someone_ has to protect you from the bad, bad magic."

He puckered his beak mockingly. Claire pushed his face to the side and continued onward.

"You know, this castle suits you."

"Why? Because it's regal and majestic?"

"Because it's empty and unused, like your brain."

"Like _your_ brain."

She rolled her eyes.

"Oh my god, you are _so_ immature."

"I think you mean 'handsome'."

She scoffed.

"That's not exactly the word I'd use to describe you."

"Right. 'Gorgeous' is more accurate."

She groaned.

"God, you just won't let up . . ."

"Oh, come on. I know you're thinking it."

"You're very ugly."

"For a human. But am I ugly for a dinosaur?"

Claire chuckled.

"You can say a stallion is beautiful, but that doesn't mean you find it attractive."

"Ooh. I like that. I'm a _stallion_."

"So you're okay with being compared to a horse?"

"I use humor to mask my insecurity."

She elbowed him playfully and nodded to a door up ahead.

"Alright, open it up."

"Why can't you?"

"Because you ought to hold the door for me."

"Fair enough."

He opened the door and gave a flourish with his front foot.

"After you."

She quirked a brow, then strolled by him with her head held high. Owen smirked in response, but when he entered the room, the corners of his mouth sagged with apprehension. The walls were lined with mirrors, all of which had been covered with velvet cloths. Owen tiptoed into the room, shy as a mouse, and cleared his throat quietly.

"Claire . . . There's a reason I keep these down here."

"I know. We need them."

She marched over to the nearest one and uncovered it, letting the fabric fall to the ground with a dull thump. Grimacing, she coughed as her face was attacked by a barrage of dust. Owen barely noticed, as his head was turned. Claire waved him over.

"Come here. I'm not getting any younger."

Owen shuffled across the stone floor, looking rather ridiculous with his tail between his legs. He stood in front of the mirror, but kept his eyes fixed on Claire. She crossed her arms and gave him a sassy look.

"The goal of this exercise isn't to stare at me all day."

"I think I'd prefer that to whatever you have planned."

She smiled and grabbed him by the chin.

"I appreciate that, but we need to-"

He tossed his head as she tried to turn his face towards the mirror. She gave a puzzled frown.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, except I hid all these mirrors down here for the express purpose of making it easier to avoid my reflection."

"What about water?"

"I try to drink with my eyes closed."

"Well, there are bound to be reflective surfaces in the castle."

He rolled his eyes.

"I'm not saying I _can't_ look in mirrors. It's just that I don't particularly enjoy it."

"Why not?"

He gave her a long, serious look. She put her hands on her hips.

"Do you mean to tell me that you're afraid of how you look, despite the fact that you've known nothing else your whole life?"

Owen sighed.

"Don't make me do this."

She narrowed her eyes.

"Do you want to be accepted in the village, or not?"

He scrunched up his face and backed away from her.

"Isn't there some other way? . . ."

"Owen, I swear to god, if you chicken out on me, I'll drag these mirrors upstairs during your nap and scatter them all over the castle."

"Go ahead. I'll smash every single one."

"And prove that you're nothing more than a brute?"

He lowed with aggravation and draped his front foot over his face.

"What does it matter, anyway? Clearly, I'm not going to be accepted by the villagers. How are they supposed to look at me if I can't even look at myself?"

"Because _I'm_ looking at you."

He lifted his foot slightly. Claire walked up to him, reached out, and took him by the hand.

"For days, I've been looking directly at you, and I'm not afraid."

"How can you bear it?"

"If _I_ looked like you, would you do the same?"

"Yes."

"Then I think you know the answer."

Owen relaxed a little, but tensed up when they reached the mirror. He tried to pull his foot out of her grasp.

"That doesn't change the fact that I hate looking at myself."

"So find something you like about your reflection."

"There's nothing to like."

"You have really nice eyes."

He was stunned by her remark. He repeated the phrase mentally, scanning it for insincerity, but decided that Claire was being genuine. Still, there must be some mistake, for he was a monster, and there was nothing about him that could ever be considered nice, let alone "really nice". But she was telling the truth, or at least the truth as she perceived it.

She put her hands on his cheeks and turned him towards the mirror slowly.

"Whenever I look at myself, I try to focus on the things I like. Otherwise, I'd be ashamed of my freckles and hair instead of being proud of what makes me beautiful."

"I don't think there's anything wrong with your freckles and hair . . ."

"Thank you. I still don't hold a candle to some of the girls in the village, though."

"I don't believe you."

"Well, we'll just have to disagree on that one."

He was now facing the mirror directly. Claire continued to hold his face, but looked at their reflected images.

"There . . . That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"No, I guess not."

Claire nodded.

"Okay. We're going to practice smiling. Show me your best smile."

He contorted his face, giving a tense grin.

"Jesus, not like that!" she snorted, "Act natural."

Owen sighed.

"Smiling doesn't come naturally to me, especially around other people. Do you know how hard it is to smile when you're afraid of being slaughtered by humans?"

"Just focus on something else."

"Like what?"

She rubbed his snout tenderly. He went limp.

"There! There it is!" she whispered, pointing at the mirror, "You're doing it!"

He hummed with awe.

"I am, aren't I? Does this mean I pass the test?"

"Mhm. And now you can finally look at your own reflection."

Of course, she didn't know that he was really looking at hers.

 _If this were the Disney version, they'd be singing a song right now._

 _Let it go._

 _No, that's another movie._

 _Smartass._


	12. Chapter 12

Claire wolfed down her dinner that night, famished after a day of intense training. After smile-practice, she had taken Owen out swimming, as it was a skill she deemed necessary, since the village was close to a lake which often served as a location for parties and get-togethers. Owen once again shook himself dry, then grabbed a towel as it was handed to him by a wall-arm near the front entranceway.

"I swear, you're only doing this to get me wet."

"Well, you needed another bath, so we killed two birds with one stone."

"How often do I need to bathe, anyway? I thought this was France!"

Claire cuffed his frill.

"Don't say those things. I'll bet you've never been out of the country."

"I have, a long time ago. You?"

"I hadn't even left the village until I came here."

Owen grasped both ends of the towel firmly and used it to polish his horn like a shoe.

"So why did you suddenly decide to go wandering into the woods?"

Claire's cheerful air faded away. Owen didn't notice this change until he turned to towel off his rear. He froze, then gave a worried frown.

"What's wrong?"

Claire forced a smile.

"Nothing! It's just . . . the day you found me in your garden, I was . . . running away."

"Running away?" he echoed, "From what?"

She leaned against a decorative table.

"It's kind of silly in retrospect, but before I got lost, I wanted to get away from the village because I'd received some bad news."

Owen bit his beak.

"Is everything okay?"

Claire shrugged.

"It's nothing, really, but . . . Well, there was this guy I liked, and I was hoping . . . I mean, it wasn't like we hadn't hung out before . . . He knew me pretty well- that's, um, just as much as the other girls, anyway . . . but he decided to get engaged to Marie."

"Who's Marie?"

"Another girl from the village. She's young, blonde, kind of busty . . . All in all, she's prettier than me."

"I don't think that's possible."

Claire sighed and made her way down the hall.

"Anyway, there's nothing I can do. He's made up his mind. I guess it was stupid to ever hope that he'd settle for less."

"You're not less, Claire."

"I am, compared to Marie."

"If he chose her over you, he's obviously an idiot."

"Well, he's not bright, but he knows a pretty girl when he sees one."

"He's not worth your time, Claire. Trust me."

"That's easy for _you_ to say. You've never been turned down for being too ug-"

She broke off when she realized what she was saying. She gave Owen an apologetic look.

"No, that's fair," he mumbled, "It's a completely different situation. I'm just an animal."

She stopped to kneel in front of him, lifting his muzzle with her palms.

"You're so much more than that. You're gentle and kind . . ."

"All the same, if I were to meet this man of yours, I'd give him a good kick in the butt."

"Oh, don't do _that_ ," she giggled, "You'd ruin your reputation right off the bat. Besides, he's a hunter, so you don't want to get on his bad side."

"A hunter?" Owen snorted, "Not the one who uses red arrows, I hope."

Claire frowned.

"How did you know?"

Owen's plates fluttered a little.

"Wow, this is awkward. He shot me, once."

"Oh my god!"

"Yeah, I was just sitting on a hill, looking down at the village . . . I'm trying to find a way to phrase that so it sounds less pathetic . . . Nevermind."

Claire bit her lip.

"And he shot you for no reason?"

Owen gulped.

"Well, not NO reason. I'm sure he thought I was a threat or something . . ."

"Did you approach him?"

"I didn't even _see_ him until he fired the arrow. It was a real pain to remove; left a scar and everything . . ."

Claire grazed her fingers over a pale patch on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry . . ."

He scoffed.

"Naw, I take it as a compliment. He must have thought I'd look good mounted on his wall."

Despite the lighthearted intonation of his voice, Owen looked sick after uttering these words. Claire took a deep breath, then wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a hug, still kneeling.

"No one's ever going to hurt you again, I promise."

He smiled hesitantly.

"I wouldn't promise _that_. Your boyfriend seems like a bit of an asshole."

Claire scratched Owen's chin.

"Good thing he's engaged to someone else, then."

 _Gaston?_

 _Nope. James._


	13. Chapter 13

Initially, Claire did not question Owen's story. It was plausible to assume that he had been attacked for no reason besides his ugliness, however unfair that may be. But then she remembered James' story about an animal he had encountered as a child. The reason he had taken up hunting in the first place was because he had a score to settle with a creature he described as the "Crimson Beast", a monster who had murdered his friend.

When he was young, James befriended a boy of noble birth. They often played by the lake, he said, fencing with reeds for fun. One year, during the winter, the boy suddenly vanished, and was never seen again. James was sitting by the fire with a group of peasants one night, and he heard his friend calling out to him from the forest. He wandered away from the crowd, and the unseen figure encouraged him to walk as far from them as possible. James asked his friend to show himself, but he refused. "We have to go deep into the forest," he said, "Deep enough so that no one will see us". Suspicious, James charged into the brush, only to find that the voice was coming from a monster. Clearly, this animal had devoured his friend, and was about to do the same to him. He grabbed a stone and hurled it at the creature, but it did not retreat. Instead, it attempted to deceive James once more, but he was clever enough to see through its lies. This voice-thief was a demon who used dark magic to seduce the innocent, like something out of a fairy tale. James called for help, and when the adults came to his rescue, the monster fled.

Of course, Claire had always assumed that this was nothing more than a tall tale: the product of a child's active imagination. Then again, she too knew a boy who had disappeared quite suddenly. She'd only seen him a few times, but he always managed to make an impression. Once, he picked a flower from the woods and brought it to her, offering his heart unconditionally in the way many innocent children do, as they know not of rejection or bitterness or heartache. Claire remembered his kind eyes and gentle smile. It was probably the first time she'd experienced affection, which may very well have blossomed into love, had he ever returned. But perhaps he too had been spirited away by the red demon.

Was it possible that Owen had deceived her? It was a valid theory, given the facts. He had access to magic, for one thing. That could be the product of some sinful origin. He had forced Claire to remain in his castle, and there was no telling what might have happened if he hadn't been wounded in the fall from the cliff. He wanted access to the town, which might reveal some sinister motivation. Most importantly, he fit James' description, and it was hard to believe that a creature so monstrous could ever have a kind heart.

And yet . . .

Claire decided to test her doubt once and for all. She asked Owen to grant her an hour of free time, and took this opportunity to observe him when he thought he was alone. Surprisingly, he made his way back to the mirror room, where he sat in the same place as they had during their lesson. Like before, he stared at his reflection, trying different facial expressions in the hope of improving his mien. After a while, he began to extend this practice to corporeal actions, waving his paw regally or giving an elegant bow. He attempted the latter several times before giving up on a four-legged pose and rising to his hind legs like a squirrel, using his tail to prop himself up. He gave a bow, and then another, this time mouthing words that Claire could not make out. He began to take long strides, still whispering some unknown dialogue, as if addressing someone very important. He looked a little silly, marching back and forth on two legs, but the effort he put into his gait was charming, to say the least. Claire found herself smiling, and was about to congratulate him on his endeavor, but suddenly, he swung his tail a little too far forward and tripped. He landed on his front feet: unharmed, but disheartened. Claire bit her lip.

Owen leaned back on his haunches, then slowly lifted his tail with his front feet. After staring at it for a moment, he gave a bitter scowl and slammed it to the ground. He caught sight of his reflection once more, and his frustration turned to something far worse. He turned his head from side to side, then touched one of his horns. His foot slid down to his muzzle, then to his beak, and finally, to the ground. He hunched his shoulders, looking into the polished glass with eyes that seemed ready to start leaking. Then, with a pained expression, he shut them tight and covered the mirror once more. He lumbered away from it, tail dragging. Claire was about to sneak away, but then something unexpected happened. Owen stopped walking and stood with his mouth parted slightly. He looked over his shoulder. Claire held her breath.

He turned.

Owen once again uncovered the mirror, though he kept his eyes closed. When he felt the velvet fall to the floor, he took a deep breath and leaned forward a little. Then, he opened his eyes wide and kept them fixed straight ahead, as though he was having a staring contest with himself. Gradually, he relaxed. He cocked his head a little, like a puppy who had discovered something intriguing. Then, the faintest of smiles tugged at the corners of his mouth. His tail swung back and forth pleasantly as he touched the prominent scales on his chin, as one might do with stubble. He examined his frill from different angles, smile widening. Claire slid her hand down the doorframe, then snuck away quietly.

Needless to say, she was convinced that James was wrong.

 _And yet she still can't figure out the painfully obvious._

 _. . ._

 _Ellie? You there?_


	14. Chapter 14

The next day, Owen did not join Claire for breakfast. She waited for a half-hour, then made herself two pieces of toast and ate them with a lonely frown. She wasn't sure why Owen refused to come down, but she had a feeling it was her fault, somehow. She expected as much. It was only a matter of time before this happened. She was used to the inevitable deterioration of her relationships, even ones that should have lasted forever. She didn't want to believe that it would happen with Owen, but even someone as desperate for affection as him managed to get sick of her.

 _Unless_ . . .

Oh, god. What if something was wrong with him? What if he was sick? What if he had _died_ in his sleep?

Claire flung her toast across the room for no apparent reason, then bolted down the hall and tramped up the staircase, breathing heavily. She skittered over to Owen's room and banged furiously on the door.

"Owen?!"

There was a woozy moo from inside.

"Claire? . . . What's wrong? . . ."

"I don't know! Are you sick? Are you hurt?"

"I . . . I'm not feeling well."

Claire tried the door, but it was locked. She grabbed a candlestick from a nearby table and bashed the handle off. When she kicked open the door, she saw Owen lying on his bed belly-down, sheets wrapped around every part of him but his face. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, and the area beneath them was dark. Claire put her hand over her mouth and fell on top of him. He lowed fearfully.

"Claire, don't touch me!"

"What's wrong?!"

He gulped.

"I'm just a little . . . sick."

She felt his forehead.

"With what?"

"That's not important. We'll have to cancel our lessons for today. I won't be able to- What are you doing?"

She began to uncover him, running her hand down his side.

"You're warm all over . . . Your plates are flushed . . ."

Owen pried her arm away with his horn, then pulled the blanket to its previous position.

"I'm perfectly fine. Go find something to do."

Claire bit her lip.

"Is it bad?"

"Yes- I mean, no. I'll be fine."

She sniffed and rubbed his frill.

"What's going on, Owen? Why won't you tell me what's wrong with you?"

"Because I- Please stop doing that- Because I'm _fine_. It'll pass. Just give me a few hours."

Claire whimpered quietly.

"Something's terribly wrong: I can tell. Why aren't you being honest with me?"

"Trust me: it's not important."

"I'm _afraid_ , Owen!"

"Don't be."

Her lip quivered.

"Are you . . . _dying_?"

He shook his head.

"No, no. It's nothing like that. Just leave me in peace. I'll be better by tomorrow."

Claire hugged his neck.

"Please don't die, Owen. You're my best friend. I can't bear to see you perish . . ."

"I'm not dying."

"Then what is it?"

"It's nothing."

She wailed and buried her face in his neck.

"You can't die, Owen, you just can't! We've only started to get to know each other!"

"I'M NOT DYING!"

"Then what's going on?" she sobbed.

Owen sighed, then took a deep breath. He rested his chin on the covers and muttered quietly.

"M-r-tng."

Claire blinked.

"What?"

"I'm . . . r-tng."

She leaned closer.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch-"

"I'm _rutting_ , okay?!" he shouted.

Claire batted her eyes.

"Rutting? Rutting. Oh, _rutting_!"

After a pause, her eyes went wide.

"Oh. Oh, god."

She removed her hand from his shoulder.

"I am- I am _so_ sorry."

He waved his foot.

"No, it's fine. I just need to be alone for it to pass."

She stood up and backed away.

"Are- are you sure?"

"Yes, well, there aren't any other dinosaurs around, and baseball hasn't been invented yet, so . . ."

Claire nodded with embarrassment and shuffled out of the room.

"Right. Okay. If you need me- Um, I mean . . . If there's anything I can do- Uh . . . What I mean to say is-"

"Goodbye, Claire," he stressed, rolling his eyes.

"Mhm. Yes. Goodbye."

She stood in the hallway for a moment before she realized that it would be best to shut the door. She did so daintily, clenching her teeth with an awkward air. Then, she pattered away from Owen's room as fast as she could.

Sure enough, she did not see him for the rest of the day. He only emerged when the sun had set, and he looked like hell when he did. His eyes were bloodshot, even more so than before, and his scales were flakey. He stumbled across the carpet like a broken puppet, then crawled up onto the sofa, taking advantage of the blazing fire. Claire hurried over to where he was lying, then sat in the crook of his body.

"Are you okay?"

"Mhm. Happens every month."

"Is it painful?"

"Not exactly."

He sighed.

"Maybe a little. I have a headache . . ."

Claire stroked the front of his frill. He closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry. Now we're a day behind schedule."

"We're not on a schedule. I'm playing this by ear," Claire lied.

"Well, I'm sorry I wasted your day, in any case. If I had known this was about to happen, I would have warned you so you could plan something fun for yourself."

"I walked through the garden."

"That's nice."

"Mhm. I checked for special flowers, but there weren't any."

There was a long silence. Claire took a deep breath.

"Are you ready to tell me why you need them so much?"

"I wish I could, but like I said before, they're important, and that's all you need to know."

"Hm. Will you _ever_ tell me?"

"I hope so."

He swished his tail, then let his head drop.

"Sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"For hoping."

Claire didn't understand what he was getting at, but he seemed really upset about something. That and his worn-out appearance made him a sorry sight, indeed. Claire rubbed his snout, then looked over her shoulder to find something to start a conversation. Her eyes landed on the massive shelves that lined the walls.

"You have a lot of books here. Do you ever read them?"

"Sometimes. Mostly, my mother read them to me, but I learned to read on my own as well."

"Ah, so you _did_ have a mother!"

"Mhm. Do _you_ ever read books?"

"Sure, I do. At least, I _would_ . . . if I could afford them."

She stood up and made her way to the nearest shelf. Many of the books seemed to be in poor condition. There were pages torn out of The Adventures of Pinocchio, and The Frog Prince was nearly worn beyond recognition. Claire settled on a copy of A Midsummer Night's Dream. When she returned to the sofa, Owen's face fell.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"Nothing," he muttered, "I'm just not particularly fond of this one."

"Well, I can find something else-"

"No, it's fine. I can deal with it."

He did not "deal with it", however. It wasn't so much that he seemed foul about her choice, per se, but he remained gloomy during her entire narration. His lack of enthusiasm forced Claire to stop halfway through.

"For goodness' sake, Owen, this is supposed to be a comedy. Laugh a little."

"I don't find it very funny."

"Why not? It's cheerful, lighthearted, everyone gets married at the end . . ."

"Not everyone."

He let out a slow breath when she gave him a puzzled look.

"It just seems unfair that these fairies get their jollies from teasing innocent people. What did they ever do to deserve it?"

"Oh, come on. You're over-analyzing it. It's just a bit of fun . . ."

"Not for the people caught up in it all."

Claire shrugged dismissively.

"Well, everything gets sorted in the end."

"If only that were true."

He gave a doleful rumble.

"Even if things work out eventually, you're still missing a good chunk of your life. All those years you could have been spending among friends and family are just . . . gone."

"It was only one night, Owen," Claire said softly.

He gulped.

"Oh . . . You're right. Sorry, I wasn't thinking."

He rested his chin on the red fabric, staring into the fire. Slowly, Claire lifted his head and slid it onto her lap, where she began to rub his snout.

"It's okay, Owen. I don't blame you for not liking it. I'll choose something better, next time."

He nodded almost imperceptibly, then closed his eyes. Claire continued to run her hand over his muzzle.

"Owen . . . it wasn't anyone's fault. The fairies were just doing mischief, and . . . Well, you know how it is. At least Bottom had a good time . . ."

"But it had to end eventually. He thought he'd spend the rest of his life with the person he loved, but in the end, he was left wondering if it had even happened at all. Everything that made him happy was taken from him, and the best parts of his life seemed like nothing more than a dream."

"But they were real . . ."

"No. Reality is dying alone. Reality is being punished for a crime you didn't commit. Reality is living an unhappy life because of what you are."

"Maybe. But we don't have to do it alone."

"The people we love will leave us, in the end."

Claire kissed his forehead.

"Love remains, even after death. Don't give up hope, Owen. We can all learn to love."

 _Ellie, I'm worried. Why aren't you answering me?_


	15. Chapter 15

Owen was alarmed to discover that he had fallen asleep on the sofa, and Claire was still with him. She was breathing calmly, nestled in the crook of his arm. For a good long time, Owen debated whether or not he should get up. This whole situation was already embarrassing, but perhaps he could get away with it if he simply pretended to be asleep. He closed his eyes, wondering how long it would take Claire to wake up. Luckily, she began to stir not long after this thought crossed his mind. As she awoke, she ran her hand down his front leg gently, and it took all of his strength to keep himself from smiling. She lifted his foot from her shoulder, then sat by his side for a minute or two. Owen had a sneaking suspicion that she was watching him sleep, though that was only half true, given he was currently awake. Finally, she brushed her fingers over his frill and got up unceremoniously.

Owen decided to stay put for a few minutes in order to maintain the illusion that he had yet to wake up. Unfortunately, this worked too well, and he fell asleep once more. When he awoke for the second time, he was greeted with a warm, crisp smell. He opened his eyes and saw Claire sitting on the floor with a plate full of toast, smiling up at him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Good morning."

He gave a lopsided grin.

"Good morning to you, too."

"I made you some toast," she beamed, holding up the plate.

Owen desperately wanted to communicate his gratitude, to express how earth-shattering this development was, but he settled on a simple phrase.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me. The magic arms did most of the work."

She slid the plate between his front legs, smiling pleasantly. Owen stared at the toast sentimentally. Claire leaned forward with anticipation.

"Are you gonna look at it, or eat it?"

Owen hummed.

"I don't know. I want to remember this moment. It's the first time I've been given a gift in a long time."

Claire gave a musical laugh.

"You're precious, Owen. Here you are giving me diamonds and gowns, and you're content with a stack of heated bread."

"Well, you deserve those things. I'm not sure I've done anything that merits a reward."

Claire ran her hand down his cheek sympathetically.

"Owen, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but things have changed since then. You are very good-natured, especially for someone of your . . . type. There are men more monstrous than you, but they hide it under their handsome appearances. You may not be traditionally attractive, but you've been kinder to me than anyone else has for as long as I've lived."

"I don't understand why you feel that way."

"Well, because it's true," Claire admitted, "Somehow, you came up with the idea that I'm well-liked by everyone, and that I deserve vast riches and positive attention. In your eyes, I'm a queen, but truly, I'm a woman like any other. My whole life, I've worked hard to make myself comfortable. I've never outright _harmed_ anyone, but I've never _helped_ anyone either. I've been _existing_ , and nothing more. You, on the other hand, have given me more than I ever could have dreamed of, and for some reason, you treat me like I'm better than most people. I don't deserve this."

"But you do," he insisted, "How many women would have healed me when I fell from that cliff, let alone volunteer to sacrifice their time to help me attain something I've desperately wanted for almost two decades? You may _think_ you've done nothing of value, but what you've given me is worth more than all the gold in this castle."

"I don't see what's so special about the things I've done," Claire sighed, "Being nice to people should be a given."

"I'm not a person."

Claire took a deep breath.

"I . . . I think you _are_."

When Owen gave her a dumbfounded look, she tucked her hair behind her ear and looked away awkwardly.

"I mean, I know you're not _human_ , but you're not an animal, either. What we have going here . . . it's real. We're the same, you and I. We've let ourselves be defined by what the world says we are, but there's more to us than what's on the surface. Somehow, we've been able to see the goodness in each other, and in doing so, we brought out the beauty in ourselves that we never knew existed."

She coughed.

"That's my theory, anyway."

Owen cocked his head.

"So, you actually _like_ me?"

"Yes, _of course_ I do. Why are you so surprised when I say it?"

"Why are _you_ so surprised when I'm kind to _you_?"

"Point taken."

She paused, then gave a gentle laugh.

"What is it?" Owen asked.

"Nothing. I was just thinking . . . Oh, nevermind. Why don't you eat your toast? We have a long day ahead of us."

Claire was wrong, however, for the day did not feel long in the slightest. Not to Owen, at least. Unlike before, their tasks seemed less about taming him, and more about doing activities for the fun of it. Claire took him swimming again, and this time she joined in, removing everything but her undergarments. This shocked Owen, but once she dove into the river and splashed him playfully, he forgot why he had been shy in the first place. She grasped his neck and rode on his back, laughing as he dog-paddled upstream. Suddenly, she gasped with wonderment. A stag was sniffing their clothing, which was hanging from a tree. Owen swam a little closer to observe it.

"Oh, he's beautiful!" Claire marveled, "I've never seen one this close before."

Owen grinned.

"If he makes you happy, I can bring you more."

"Oh, don't do _that_. They're meant to be free."

"Then I shall carry you to wherever they gather, so that you may watch them all day."

Claire giggled, then splashed his snout. He snorted loudly. The stag lifted his head in alarm, and his antlers became entangled in Owen's shirt. The deer ran off with the garment draped over his head.

"Oh, no! That was my best shirt!" Owen whined, "I don't know if I'll be able to find a substitute. I have no one to sew for me, ever since my mo-"

Suddenly, Claire leap-frogged over his head and climbed up the bank. She pursued the stag in her wet underwear, running across the field in bare feet. Owen was initially too shocked to pursue her, but he came to his senses and bolted up the mucky riverside.

Claire had cornered the stag by the time he caught up with her, and was trying to calm it down. It was caught between two trees, and Owen's shirt had snagged multiple branches. The stag thrashed around violently, lowing with frustration. Owen was about to leap forward and defend Claire from the wild animal, but she suddenly took its head in her hands and stroked its face. The stag gave a deep snort, then went limp in her arms. She pet it with wonderment, then waved Owen over.

"Come on."

"I don't think he'll like me."

"Nonsense. You two are practically brothers."

Owen rolled his eyes, then trotted up to the deer slowly. It seemed apprehensive, at first, but Claire guided Owen's hand to the animal's side and showed him how to calm it. As Owen soothed the beast, Claire freed it, and when it had been fully released, it cantered into the forest with a calm stride. Claire examined Owen's shirt with a furrowed brow.

"It's torn in places, but I think I can fix it for now. I'm not a very good seamstress . . ."

Owen nodded rapidly.

"That's alright. I'll take whatever help is offered."

And so, they marched back to the castle, where Claire spent the next hour repairing his shirt by the fire. Owen held a pincushion in his beak, standing at attention lest she require his assistance. When the job was done, she passed him the garment nervously.

"I don't think I did too bad of a job, but you might want to have it fixed by a professional. It would be a shame to ruin this one. It looks good on you."

Owen raised his eyebrows.

"Really?"

"Sure," Claire affirmed as she helped him put it on, "It's pale like ivory, and the sleeves are big and ruffled . . . I wouldn't be able to afford something like this if I saved up for a year- Not that I'd buy it, since I'm a girl, but it suits you just fine. The neckline really compliments your-"

She pulled her hand away when she realized that she oughtn't to be touching his chest so tenderly.

"-your scales. It looks nice."

Owen laughed sheepishly.

"Yeah. It's a great shirt."

"Still, it doesn't get full credit."

He had to repeat her words many times in his mind before he could accept that they meant what he initially assumed. He decided that he was wrong, however, because Claire stood up quite suddenly and headed for the kitchen.

"You wanna bake?"

He did.

Yet they did not bake so much as play, experimenting with different combinations of ingredients, and it didn't take long for the whole thing to devolve into a flour fight. It was difficult to toss powder across the room with any degree of accuracy, so Claire grabbed two fistfuls and slapped them directly onto Owen's side. He nabbed the bag and beat her over the head with it like a pillow, speckling her hair white. She scooped the remaining flour off of the table and tackled him, spreading it all over his face as she perched herself on his belly. They laughed until their sides were sore. Claire's giggling did not subside right away. She shook uncontrollably, then lost her ability to make sound. Owen craned his neck with worry.

"You okay?"

She took a few frantic breaths, then nodded.

"I'm sorry. It's just that I haven't had this much fun in ages."

"Me neither."

"What do you want to do next?"

"Whatever _you_ want to do."

Owen said this with the intent of allowing her to shift their activities back to a more educational setting (since that was her plan to begin with), but instead, she chose another leisurely pursuit. She guided Owen to a large room, nearly yanking his arm out of its socket in the process, and uncovered an organ. She pulled up a mahogany bench with excitement.

"This is a music machine, correct?"

"Something like that."

"Can you teach me how to play?"

"No."

Claire put her hands on her hips.

"Well, why do you even _own_ the thing if you don't know how to play it?"

"Oh, I know how to play it."

"Then why don't you?"

Owen held up his front feet, which were virtually toeless. Claire sighed.

"That's fair. Can you show me which buttons to push, at least?"

Owen sat behind her, draping his hands over hers. He guided them to a proper position.

"Spread your fingers out a little- Not _that_ far- Good, now slide your pinky one key to the left . . . Perfect. Now, press down gently."

Owen worked the pedals while Claire played. As the organ swelled, she pulled her hands away with shock.

"It's loud!"

"I can pump slower . . ."

"No, that's fine. I kind of like it."

They played for an hour or so, then retreated to the garden, where they found a bunch of grapes hanging from a tree, which was rather strange, as there had been no grapes in the garden before, and they supposedly grew on vines. Claire climbed the trunk to fetch them, determined to harvest each and every one. Owen waited patiently at the base of the tree, praying that she wouldn't injure herself in the process. When the branch snapped, he broke her fall with his belly, then led her to a marble bench, where they took turns feeding each other. Owen couldn't help but wonder if it was meant to be romantic. Most of the activities they had partaken in over the past few hours skirted that border. He was inclined to believe that she might be sending him subtle signals, but that was impossible. As she said a few days ago, people like her and animals like him were not meant to be together. Still, he had to wonder if she'd changed her mind . . .

"There's one more thing we need to do," Claire announced solemnly.

"And what's that?"

She smiled.

"Dance."

Owen blinked several times, then shook his head to clear his thoughts.

"Dance?"

"Yes, dance."

"Is dancing crucial to my integration in the village?"

"Well . . . Yes."

Owen was not about to object.

They changed their outfits, then met up in the ballroom. When Claire stepped through the door in a dazzling ballgown, Owen thought he might faint. He did his best to suppress this feeling, for fear that he'd end up saying something he'd regret. Part of him wanted to keep their relationship platonic, but he knew he still had feelings for her, as much as he tried to deny it. Perhaps she felt the same way.

"Put your hands on my waist."

"What?"

"Put your hands on my waist. That's how you dance."

"Can't I just put them on your shoulders?"

"Come on. Be a man."

Owen gulped, then held her with his front feet. She rested her palms on his shoulders, and he felt his heart leaping in his chest. When she looked into his eyes, he was ready to explode.

"Alright. Let's go."

Surprisingly enough, Owen did not step on his partner's toes, but perhaps that was because he had his eyes fixed on the ground. Claire lifted his chin with her index finger.

"Look at me."

"I don't want to trip."

"You won't. You're pretty graceful . . . for a two-ton dinosaur."

He quirked a brow.

"I weigh three tons. It's all muscle, you know."

"Mm. I can tell."

She giggled and rested her head on his chest. He wondered if she could hear his heartbeat accelerating. He took a shaky breath and forced a smile.

"So, do you dance often?"

"No. There aren't that many single men in the village."

"Does that mean we'll be dancing together?"

"Sure, unless you find yourself a dinosaur-lady."

"I'd take you over a dinosaur any day."

When he realized that his statement was slightly suggestive, his mind raced to backtrack it, but Claire spoke before he had the chance.

"I'd take you over those assholes who never gave me a second thought."

Owen continued to rock back and forth with Claire in his arms, but it was like walking through clouds. How could he be sure that this was real? For all he knew, he might have fallen asleep for a week and dreamt up this beautiful scene. Perhaps he had unknowingly entered hibernation for the first time in fifteen years.

They finished their dance, and Owen led Claire to his room, still dazed. They passed the glowing flowers, then sat on the balcony, gazing down at the lit windows of the village. The orange glow of hundreds of lamps bled into the silver stars on the horizon. Claire smiled when she saw the pinpoints reflected in Owen's eyes.

"I can tell you're deep in thought."

"This is really happening, isn't it?" he whispered.

"Of course."

"After all these years, things are finally going to be set right."

"Naturally."

He took her hands in his.

"Thank you, Claire. I couldn't have done this without your help."

She laughed a little.

"Oh, it was nothing. Anyone would have done the same."

Owen shook his head.

"I've been thinking about it, and that's not true. You're special, Claire. Today has been the best day of my life, and it's all because of you. I didn't want to admit it, because I thought it would be weird, but . . . I have to be honest with you, because I think you feel the same way."

"Yeah, I enjoyed today as well."

Owen inhaled cautiously.

" _Actually_ , I was talking about something else. I've been running away from my feelings for so long, because I felt ashamed of experiencing something so human when I'm . . . _not_ . . . but here we are."

"Here we are."

There was a long, drawn-out pause. Claire gazed at the village, and Owen gazed at her. He slid closer to where she was sitting. With great trepidation, he leaned forward. He could feel himself losing his grip. This was the moment. He was going to be completely honest, even if it destroyed him. The words "I love you" were practically leaping around in his beak. All he had to do was open his mouth and-

"You're ready," she declared.

Owen pulled his head back.

"What?"

"You're ready to go into the village. I've taught you all there is to know."

Owen's face brightened.

"Well, that's great! I can't wait to go down and-"

"Of course, I'll have to go alone, first."

Owen froze.

"You . . . what?"

"Well, we can't have you scaring the villagers right off the bat," Claire laughed, "They need to be convinced that you mean them no harm. I'll leave tonight, and by noon tomorrow, I'll be back to get you."

Owen turned his head to conceal his expression. Claire frowned, then reached for his hand. He pulled it away quickly when they touched, then gave a broken smile.

"That's great. I'm excited."

Claire looked into his eyes and found that something was off about the way he was reacting. She was about to ask him if everything was okay, but he stood up and entered his room, leaving her alone on the balcony.

"You'd better go now if you want to make it back before midnight. Take my horse. He'll get you there safely."

"Does he know the way back?"

Owen gulped.

"Yes," he said quietly.

Claire nodded, then followed him into the darkness of his quarters. When she passed the two flowers, Owen lifted the glass case and held them out for her.

"Take these. I know how much you love them."

Claire's mouth hung open in disbelief.

"I thought you said they were important . . ."

"No, it doesn't matter now. They belong with you. Take them, so you can remember me."

Claire laughed.

"I'll be back tomorrow . . ."

He gulped.

"Right, right . . . Well, take them anyway. I want you to be happy."

She kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm already happy, but I can tell you won't let me leave without them. I promise, I'll bring them back safe and sound."

Owen took a deep breath.

"Goodbye, Claire."

"Goodbye, for now."

She gave him a final smile, then walked out the door. Owen stood in the center of his empty room, still as a statue. Then, he reached up and touched his cheek where she had kissed it. He began to shake, and tears trickled down his scales.

"Claire . . ."

As she rode off into the night, she could have sworn she heard a lonely howl coming from the castle.

 _I'm back._

 _From where?_

 _Real life. I can't write silly stories all day, you know._

 _They're not s- I mean- Look, just keep going._


	16. Chapter 16

The forest was deathly quiet when Claire made the return journey to Owen's castle. Thick mist wove through the bare trees, and the sky was as pale as the snow that peeked out from the grayness. The only sound came from Magnifique, the horse, whose slow strides served as a dismal metronome. Each step was a step closer to Owen, whom Claire could not bear to speak to, presently. She kept her eyes fixed on the ground ahead of her, not wanting to know how close she was to reaching the castle.

She could still hear the voices of her peers echoing in her mind. Their jeering faces and laughs of disdain took over her consciousness, forcing their way into her thoughts, though she wanted to forget all about what had happened the night prior. They called her crazy, of course, and said that she ought to be locked up in the loony bin. Surprisingly, they had no issue with her claim that a big, red, hybrid dinosaur was living out in the woods, but as soon as she tried to explain that he was kindhearted, things went downhill. Her heart ached from their insults, but more so, she was being torn apart by the thought of how Owen might react to this news. He wasn't the type to blame her for her failure. Instead, he'd take it as a confirmation that he really _was_ a monster who had no place in civilized society. In truth, the fault lay not within Claire or Owen, but within those who would not give him a chance. Claire had been among them not a week ago, and now she was an outcast for the simple reason that she had been able to see the beauty in a beast. With dead eyes, she tried to decide how best to break the news to her friend.

"Hi, Owen. Fancy seeing you here. The funniest thing happened to me, yesterday. You know how you put all of your faith in me, hoping that I could make your life even a little better? Well, it kind of backfired . . ."

She shook her head. That wasn't going to work.

"Hey, there. Nice to see you again. You know how you had that one dream you've been wishing for for over a decade? Well, it turns out that it's never coming true, all thanks to me . . ."

Still wrong. Maybe it was best not to sugarcoat the issue. She took a deep breath.

"Owen, I've failed you. More than that, the world has failed you. When I told them how wonderful you were, they laughed at me like I was insane, but I know I'm not. You're the kindest soul I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, and . . . and it doesn't matter if they can't see the goodness inside of you. I'm here for you, and I'll _always_ be here for you, so you can forget those jerks and their stupid village. I think we'd be much happier with each other, and no one else."

She was feeling a little calmer now. Still, she knew that the news would break Owen's heart. When she pictured how crushed he would be, she couldn't stop herself from crying.

"Look, Owen, it's not your fault. It never was. People just have trouble looking beyond what they see. There was a time when I was like that, but I've changed since then. You've shown me that goodness comes from unexpected places. These past few days, I've learned to be happy, and I've grown to l-"

She stopped herself. As much as she wanted to reject the pressures of society, she still retained a sliver of pride that prevented her from crossing that line for good.

". . . and I've grown to _care for_ you. So, screw the village. I'm with you 'til the end, Owen, because I've never met someone as amazing as you are . . ."

It wasn't a perfect speech, but it would have to do. The castle had appeared through the mist during her monologue, and its foreboding silhouette was impossible to ignore. It was time to face the repercussions of her failed mission.

Claire dismounted the horse, leaving him at the gate. She yanked on the bars, but they parted magically, and she was able to step inside the courtyard. As she rounded the corner, she stepped over the ladder she had used during her attempted escape. That seemed like such a long time ago. Anyway, there was no use in beating around the bush. Owen was waiting.

She made her way through the garden, wondering if she ought to call out to him, or if they'd run into each other like that first day in the foyer. She did not have to look far, for he was splayed out on the edge of the big fountain, lying limp with his mouth parted slightly. Claire felt her heart sink.

"Owen? . . ."

He did not reply.

She sprinted over to where he was lying with her hands over her mouth. When she reached the fountain, she rolled his body onto her lap with great difficulty, and he still did not respond. Frantically, she patted his cheek, urging him to wake up.

"OWEN! . . . OWEN! . . . OH MY GOD, MY GOD!"

He took a shallow breath, and his eyes opened a little, cloudy and unfocused. He looked around, then stared at Claire as though she was a ghost.

"Claire . . . You came back! . . ."

"Of course I did! I _told_ you I was coming back!"

He closed his eyes painfully.

"I thought you were lying."

Claire shook her head.

"No, no . . . Why would I do that?"

"Because you changed your mind."

"I would never do that to you. You _know_ that . . ."

She pulled his head towards her.

"What's that on your tongue? Why is it all blue?"

Owen winced.

"It doesn't matter now. You're here . . . You came back . . . We're together . . ."

Claire looked into his eyes and saw fear. All at once, she understood what was going on.

"You're dying."

Owen exhaled.

"I'm sorry."

Claire buried her face in his chest.

"Owen, how _could_ you? . . ."

"I thought you weren't coming back . . ."

"Couldn't you at least have waited?" she whimpered.

"I'd rather die than know for sure that you'd left me forever."

Claire started sobbing.

"This is all my fault!"

"No, no it isn't, Claire. I was stupid. You can't blame yourself."

She whined quietly.

"I should have stayed. I knew something was wrong."

Owen shook his head.

"It's better this way. I'll die, and you can go on living your life-"

"BUT I DON'T WANT TO GO ON LIVING MY LIFE! I WANT TO STAY WITH YOU!"

Owen gave a weak smile.

"I think we both know that's impossible. We're too different."

"Not in the ways that matter," she sniffled.

Owen opened his mouth, then fell back a little, dizzy from the effort of sitting up. Claire touched his cheek lovingly.

"Owen, you can't die. I need you."

His breathing was growing faint. There wasn't much time. Claire leaned a little closer and felt a tear sliding down her nose.

"I love you."

For a moment, Owen seemed to come back to life, but the poison was overtaking him. He went limp, struggling to breathe, and whispered something that Claire could not make out. He was trying his best to hold on, she could tell, but it was not enough. The life seeped out of his limbs, and he let out his final breath. Claire sat frozen in place, arms shaking a little as she held him. Her mouth was open and her cheeks were stained with tears. She let out a terrible wail, then draped herself across Owen's chest.

"NO!"

Her tears crossed his scales. She was alone in the world, and for no good reason. Her trip to the village had been absolutely pointless, and what's more, it had cost her her only friend. With a heavy heart, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the two white flowers. She lifted Owen's front foot and tucked them beneath it. To her horror, they disappeared, one fizzling into light and the other sinking into his body. She made a grab for them, but it was too late. They were gone. Claire sniffled, then touched his cheek gently.

"I really can't do anything right, can I?" she whimpered, "Well, it doesn't matter now. There's only one thing I can give you, even though it's too late. I can only hope you're able to feel it, somehow."

She kissed him full on the beak. She didn't know what she expected, but nothing happened. Poor Owen was so far from this world that not even a kiss could wake him. She only wished he had been alive when she finally mustered the courage to do it. With a hopeless cough, she sobbed into his chest, prepared to stay that way forever.

Then, out of nowhere, someone reached up and touched the back of her head. She gasped and arched her back, then turned her head slowly. There, lying flat on her lap, was a human man. He blinked, then gave a weak smile.

"Hello."

Claire screamed in terror and threw him to the ground. He gave a surprised shout, then scuffled around clumsily in the dirt on all fours.

"Hey, what do you think you're _doing_?!"

Claire had been ready to beat him over the head with a decorative boulder from the fountain, but when she heard his voice, she tensed up, dropped the rock, and gawked at him in disbelief.

"Owen? . . ."

He frowned with confusion.

"Yeah? What's wrong?"

Claire's eyes became as wide as dinner plates as she stepped down from the ledge.

" _Owen_?! . . ."

He gave her a dumbfounded look.

"Yeah, it's me. What's the matter? Do I have something stuck in my-"

As he reached for his mouth, he noticed that there was no snout protruding from his face. When he caught a glimpse of the hand making the gesture, he flinched away from it, as though he suspected it belonged to someone else. Then, the truth dawned on him. He wiggled his fingers a little, and this was enough to make his jaw drop. He turned to look at himself, spinning in circles to confirm that his tail was gone, then stood up unsteadily and patted himself down.

"Oh my god . . ."

He grinned, then moved towards Claire. When she shrunk away, he stopped.

"What's the matter?"

"You're different," she said, "How can I be sure it's really you?"

Owen pondered this for a moment. He rubbed his chin, then sighed.

"I don't know. We should have set a codeword or something. I guess you'll just have to take my word for it."

She gulped and waved her finger at his vertical shape.

"I mean, you look like yourself, but also not. You're missing your tail, and you have hair . . . long hair . . ."

"I can cut it."

"No, it's just going to take some getting used to."

She approached him cautiously, then touched his face. He smiled, and so did she. Then, he gave an awkward cough.

"You know, Claire, I don't want to push it, but I'm human now, so does this change anything?"

She shook her head.

"This doesn't change a thing . . ."

Owen's face fell briefly.

"I still love you," Claire finished.

He sighed with relief, then lifted her by the waist and spun her around. She gave him a kiss, and he smiled dopily. When they pulled apart, they found that it had begun to snow on the castle grounds. Claire lifted her hand, catching a few snowflakes with awe.

"Oh. I guess that's the end of the magic, then."

Owen kissed her on the nose.

"That's alright. You're all the magic I need. Let's get out of the cold."

As he carried her back to the castle, she wrapped her arms around his neck. With a deep sigh, she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against his chest.

"So, does this make me a queen?"

"Not unless you intend to marry me . . ."

"And if I do?"

"Then yes, probably."

"Am I _allowed_ to marry you?"

"Of course. Who's gonna stop us?"

"Oh, I don't know. It just seems like a peasant shouldn't be allowed to marry into royalty."

Owen rolled his eyes.

"Claire, I spent the last fifteen years as a dinosaur-prince. I don't think this is going to be a problem."

She smiled.

"That means we get to live happily ever after . . ."

He laughed.

"So it would seem."

And they returned home, together.

 **The End**

 _So?_

 _So, what?_

 _What did you think?_

 _Mm, it was alright, but I'm still not convinced. Sure, she decided to stay with him when he was human, but what if he had no way of changing back? What if she had another suitor? What if-_

 _You already have something planned, I can tell._

 _Perhaps I do. Perhaps . . . I . . . do._

 **Continued in "The Stegoceratops Of Notre Dame".**


End file.
